


Perfectworldshipping Week 2020 | Tumblr Event

by fuladaris



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Cigarettes, Hospitals, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Non-Graphic Violence, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, depends on the chapter, look at me posting things from a 2020 event in 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuladaris/pseuds/fuladaris
Summary: There were a lot of little moments that characterized his relationship with Lysandre, after all - but was a week's worth really enough to capture the significance of just what Lysandre had meant to him, Augustine wonders, as he thinks about what was left behind in their wake? Could anyone really understand it, why he was mourning a would-be murderer, why he was grieving the loss of a man who’d tried to destroy the world?
Relationships: Fleur-de-lis | Lysandre/Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Day One: Cafe/Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> So, Perfectworldshipping Week was held in September 2020 on tumblr. I'm not sure how many people actually contributed, but I did write something for all seven days, and posted all of them to my tumblr blog.
> 
> I am reposting six of those seven fics here, while completely re-writing Day 3 (the one I wrote at the time was very much based on a plot from my blog itself that featured planning I did with several other writers, and although I love it a lot, it'd likely be difficult to follow on AO3 without all the context). I’ll post the content of the new Day 3 on my tumblr (but won’t delete the old) and then repost the new one here as well.
> 
> Anyway - I hope you enjoy these! They were some of the first major works of writing I did with this ship, beyond my usual RP and blog development. As always, I'll add AO3 links to the original tumblr posts as chapters are added on here.

_**Day One  
Cafe / Coffee** _

Anytime Augustine Sycamore walks into Lysandre Cafe the very _second_ the place opens, Lysandre knows better than to disturb him. He simply snaps his fingers and gestures for the staff to give the professor a private table in the corner, a table where he can work unimpeded for as long as he pleases. It isn’t _often_ that Sycamore comes here only to _write_ and not to _chat_ , of course, but when he _does_ \- Lysandre sees to it that the man’s endeavors go undisturbed, for was that not what the professor deserved?

And indeed, the table was _exclusively_ Sycamore’s on those days, his fingers flying across his laptop’s keyboard with such speed and grace that Lysandre, when he closes his eyes and listens to the rapid tapping, can almost _see_ the text of the expertly crafted articles forming.

( _Just occasionally_ , he will pass his hand over the professor’s shoulder and squeeze as he walks by the younger man’s table, and oh, how his heart _flutters_ whenever Sycamore briefly nuzzles his arm in response.)

He recalls, once, when a new waitress had asked Augustine to leave, had tried explaining to him that he couldn’t use one table for himself _all day_ , when policy said that customers must buy a new drink every hour and could not stay longer than three, due to high demand for seats -

And Lysandre had _slammed_ a mug of coffee in front of the man, had hissed something about how “ _He_ is allowed to stay for as long as he wishes. _He_ is one of our VIPs-” and likely would have said something terrible and threatening had Sycamore not demurely touched his hand. The professor had then flashed a winning smile at the waitress, and thanked her for her work, and apologized for the trouble - and then gone right back to writing, as if he’d never been interrupted at all.

Lysandre’s favorite days like this were when Augustine stayed from open to close, laptop slamming shut as soon as the doors locked. Indeed, that same new waitress had almost questioned _that_ , too, had thought better of it when she saw the way Lysandre had glowered when she opened her mouth.

_I’m surprised she didn’t quit, honestly._

_Ahh! But today **is** going to be one of those days_, Lysandre then thinks with a smile, watching as the final round of customers make their way out of the building, all save for _his_ professor, who hasn’t looked up from his laptop in so long that Lysandre wonders, briefly, if he ought to say something to him.

But, no - as soon as the door locks, Sycamore, as if on cue, shuts his laptop, puts it away, stands, stifles a yawn, and walks right up to Lysandre, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck with a satisfied hum. 

“Get your work done, _mon coeur_?” Lysandre asks, arms finding a home around the professor’s waist in turn.

“I did! It’s shaping up to be a _marvelous_ paper on the Anistar Sundial - I’ll let you read it later,” Sycamore replies - even in a tired haze, he still speaks with such a beautiful, beautiful energy, and Lysandre kisses his forehead.

“You need rest, Augustine,” he murmurs, trusting his staff to close up properly, as they always do, and when he slips out the door with Sycamore cuddled up against his side, _he_ almost starts humming, too.

This is why he loves the days when Augustine Sycamore camps out at the cafe for a full fifteen hours, after all: He relishes this chance to walk his lover home, bathed in the beauty of Kalosian moonlight, as lovely and precious a thing as the very stars themselves.


	2. Day Two: Proposal/Wedding

_**Day Two  
Proposal / Wedding** _

“One day,” Lysandre murmurs, as he and Augustine curl around each other, the secure holds having become a necessity for either of them to achieve a full night of sleep, “I will marry you.”

“Why not _today_?” Sycamore asks, batting those pretty, pretty blue-gray eyes up at his partner, an expression that _usually_ gets him whatever he wants - but, tonight, it only earns him a chuckle, a kiss on the forehead, and a soft, “Because it’s the middle of the _night_ , Augustine.”

“Then why not tomorrow?”

“Because I have _work_ tomorrow, and so do _you_ , and so do our friends. There isn’t time to arrange a full wedding party, to find a place to host the ceremony, a restaurant to cater the food...These things require the proper _planning_ , Augustine...”

“Planning, huh?” Augustine stirs, slightly, reaches out to trace his fingers along Lysandre’s jawline and chin, feeling the coarse hair of his beard, Lysandre leaning into the touch like a great cat. 

“Yes, planning.”

“Well...Why? We could always elope.”

And there it is - an end to Lysandre’s calm, quiet mood, for he _stiffens_ at that request, and the effect is so startling and abrupt that Sycamore instantly starts to apologize, to backtrack, to try and play it off as a joke -

“It’s fine,” Lysandre says, shortly, before he - still stiffly, somewhat - relaxes into his partner’s hold once again. “I just...It needs to be perfect. If I am to marry you, it needs to be perfect. You understand, don’t you?”

“I - I understand, yes.”

Lysandre kisses him softly on the lips, finally relaxing fully once again. “I promise you, _mon coeur_ , that the wedding we will have will be the most beautiful one Kalos has ever seen, for it is only what you deserve. I promise...”

\----

It occurs to Augustine, as that memory runs through his head, as dozens of others like it sprinkle in and out of his thoughts, that Lysandre might just be stringing him along. For a brief, terrifying moment, he wonders if Lysandre is so against the prospect of eloping because he’s _lying_ about wanting to marry him, that the excuse of needing to find and plan the perfect moment is just that - 

An _excuse_.

He wonders if he ought to take the initiative himself - if he ought to buy a ring, to propose properly, to tell Lysandre that, yes, he _does_ want to get married, and he _does_ want to plan out a perfect, beautiful wedding, and he doesn’t _want_ to _wait_ , anymore...

And, really, _why_ are they still doing so? Why haven’t they officially upgraded themselves from boyfriends to fiancés? What is Lysandre waiting _for_?

But then he feels Lysandre roll over in bed, nuzzle against his back in the middle of sleep, murmur his name...And Augustine, as he always does, when he starts to consider how things are changing between them, how _Lysandre_ is changing, banishes the thoughts, allows himself to feel blissful yet again.

After all - Lysandre wouldn’t act vulnerable like this around anyone else, so of _course_ their time will come, right?

_It has to. Oh, it has to._


	3. Day Three: Betrayal/Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter I re-wrote for this AO3 posting, rather than just posting the same one I had originally posted on tumblr. As much as I love the original Day 3 fic I wrote (which is linked in the end-note, if you want to read it), it is heavily based on plotting with my tumblr friends, and the story would not have made much sense to an AO3 audience, hence why you guys are getting this one instead of the original.
> 
> Of course, because this was a tumblr event originally, the full text of this Day 3 re-write did get published on my tumblr blog in addition to here on AO3, which means the tumblr crowd is getting a surprise eighth fic (five months later but shhh). They get two Day 3s for the price of one, I guess! 
> 
> Anyway - enjoy! This is the fic which prompted the "Major Character Death" tag, if the prompt for it didn't give that away.

_**Day Three  
Betrayal / Death** _

Augustine’s hands shake as he pours himself a glass of wine, his Holo Caster repeating Lysandre’s final message on a loop - and not the final message he’d given Kalos, either, but the final message he’d sent to Augustine _personally_.

_I have loved you for all these years, Augustine, and I still do, and I always will. But I had to leave you behind, you see. You would not have been happy, in my new world, for a heart as big as yours has room for all of humanity, the way the Earth itself does not. I am doing you a favor, mon cher, and I hope you can find it in that big, loving, precious heart of yours to forgive me. Please, never forget that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you._

_And I am - so sorry - that it had to end like this._

Lysandre’s voice had cracked, at that, and Augustine - fingers trembling as he lit up another cigarette, the poor professor smoking like a chimney, all attempts at banishing his vice forgotten in the aftermath of this devastating, devastating news - had sobbed, as Lysandre’s voice hit his ears for the last time:

_Farewell, Gus. I hope we have a chance to meet again, someday._

And yet - things had not worked out the way they were “supposed to,” had they? _Lysandre_ was the one dead, buried beneath tons of rubble, and _Augustine_ was the one still alive, alive and hurting, every breath that entered his lungs as painful as a hand poking a wound would be.

But the pain was proof that he was _alive_ , nevertheless.

“Where did we go wrong?” he whispers, mournfully, reaching out for a framed photo on his desk - a picture of himself and Lysandre in their thirties, both of them laughing and smiling in front of Anistar Sundial, and looking as blissful as it was possible for any human to be. _Had Lysandre’s smile been faltering even then?_

He remembered this trip in its entirety - seven days, a whole week of the two of them touring Kalos and researching Mega Evolution, stealing kisses in hotel rooms, planning a future that he now knew would never come. 

_I could write a memoir_ , he thinks, bitterly. _A memoir about him, about us, focused entirely on that one week, down to the smallest detail..._

There were a lot of little moments that characterized his relationship with Lysandre, after all - but was a week's worth really enough to capture the significance of just what Lysandre had meant to him, Augustine wonders, as he thinks about what was left behind in their wake? Could anyone really understand it, why he was mourning a would-be murderer, why he was grieving the loss of a man who’d tried to destroy the world? 

His Holo Caster beeps, interrupting the playback of Lysandre’s final declaration of - love? Was it love? Who even knew, anymore? He lets it ring, lets it go to voicemail.

(It takes three more glasses of wine and countless repetitions of Lysandre’s message before he’s drunk and despondent enough to see who had tried to contact him.)

 _Sina and Dexio. Of course._ He hadn’t been to the lab in a while, after all.

Still, though, he doesn’t listen to what he’s sure is just well-wishes, “We’re here for yous,” and “We love yous.” He deletes whatever it was they’d said, rests his head on his hands, and goes back to listening to that final message, trying to convince himself that there isn’t a plea for help in it.

_His voice wasn’t cracking because he wanted you to come save him. It was cracking because he was saying goodbye. You did all you could. You wouldn’t have been strong enough._

_You wouldn’t have made a difference. You wouldn’t have made a difference. You- You wouldn’t have-_

The Holo Caster clicks off, and he looks up in surprise. There stands Goupil - his Delphox - the first Pokemon he’d ever obtained. The fox lets out a soft, concerned sound, and Augustine can’t force himself to smile, or to say everything is alright, because how could a Pokemon he’d known for three decades ever be fooled by such an obvious lie?

“I- I miss- I miss Lys,” he forces out, words a drunken, miserable slur. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so - so lost, Goupil. I-”

Goupil hugs him tightly. He misses Lysandre, too, of course, and Lysandre’s Pokemon, Pokemon who had been as close to him as _Augustine’s_ other Pokemon were. All together, they’d been a family, and now that family was _gone_ , ripped away from them due to no fault of his trainer’s. 

Augustine hates it, though, hates grieving so openly like this, as if Goupil isn’t grieving, too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, hoarsely. “I’m sorry,” and he’s apologizing to himself, and to his starter, and to Lysandre, for all the ways he’d failed to save any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to read the original prompt fill for Day 3, I have dropped the link below. Please be warned, however, that it has more references to non-graphic violence and character death than the re-write above, and is about the aftermath of Sycamore having to kill Lysandre in a post-game tumblr event I wrote with friends (long story, but that's why I didn't post the full text here to begin with haha). Nothing is graphically described and it's still a T rating, but there's definitely a lot more grief and heartache, so please be warned!
> 
> https://fuladaris.tumblr.com/post/629941881440256000/perfectworldshipping-week


	4. Day Four: Pokemon Battle/Affable Rivals

**_Day Four  
Pokemon Battle / Affable Rivals_ **

The first time Lysandre had a battle against a member of Sycamore’s personal team, he ended up surprised by how talented a battler the Professor actually was. Not that the man had a _chance_ at beating _Lysandre’s Pyroar_ , of course, but, still - 

A Starter that the forty-year old Augustine had obtained as a ten-year old and which had been in his possession ceaselessly since then, raised up through the Fennekin and Braixen stages into the glorious Delphox he was today, was _bound_ to have learned _something_ in the battling department, yes?

“Now, if you have Pokemon capable of fighting like _that_ ,” Lysandre quips, handing a Max Revive over to the Professor as a show of sportsmanship, “then why do you insist that your team is no good at it?”

“Because _I’m_ no good at it,” Augustine says, simply, graciously accepting the offered medicine and using it on his partner. “ _I_ lost it for us, didn’t I? Lys, it’s not that my Pokemon are no good at fighting. I’m just rubbish at giving orders. I care far more for research than I do competing - but my Pokemon are also academic-types, so I doubt they begrudge me for it, _oui_?”

(Indeed, Sycamore’s revived Delphox was nuzzling his Trainer even then!)

“Maybe so, but the battle wasn’t _easy_ for me like some of our _other_ matches have been. I do hope you haven’t been holding back, Professor...”

“Holding back against you? Never!” 

The two men share a laugh after that, and then settle into a comfortable silence, watching as Goupil and Soleil - Delphox and Pyroar - roam around Lysandre’s expansive backyard, Lysandre’s shiny Gyarados (Levi, who had merely observed the match) swimming in the lagoon that the property enclosed and greeting his fellow Pokemon at the shoreline.

As Lysandre watches his Starter swim, he reaches out a hand - the same one he wears his Mega Ring on, although no Mega Stone adorns it, yet, a problem he hopes to rectify soon - and takes one of Sycamore’s hands, smoothing his thumb over the back of it.

“I would like to have another battle with you someday, Augustine, and I want it to be against a Pokemon capable of Mega Evolution. You do own one, don’t you?”

“A few, actually,” Augustine replies, nestling against Lysandre’s side. “I’ve got the Charizard, Venusaur, and Blastoise I let my students train with, for one thing. But if you want me to use a member of my personal team again, it’ll have to be my Garchomp. Why the specificity?”

“Because I think you have what it takes now, and I want to see you try it.”

Sycamore’s body stiffens at that, and Lysandre sighs. “ _Mon dieu_. Augustine, you _research_ Mega-Evolution. Surely being able to do it yourself would be of great benefit to you?”

“I-It would be, yes, but it’s just not something I’m cut out for.”

“Do you not have the necessary bond with your Garchomp?”

“I think I do, I just-”

“Béni loves you quite a bit, you know.”

“I know she does, and I love her-”

“Then what’s stopping you from trying?”

“I’m just not cut out for it.”

“I think you are.”

“I’m _not_.”

“For Arceus’s _sake_ , Augustine, you can’t let your cowardice hold you _back_ -”

“ _ **DON’T**_ -”

Lysandre pauses, at that sharpness in his partner’s voice, and Augustine draws a deep, hesitant breath. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just - _don’t_ \- call me a coward. I’m not cut out to do it myself. It’s not my Garchomp, it’s me. I’m just...not the right Trainer for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Lysandre says, simply, and he lets go of Sycamore’s hand.


	5. Day Five: Sickness/Drowzy

**_Day Five  
_ _Sickness / Drowzy_ **

When Lysandre’s eyes open, he’s aware of several things at once - the hot glare of the spotlights burning down on him from the ceiling; his Pyroar, nuzzling his right hand and mewling like a frightened Litleo; and Augustine Sycamore, kneeling at his side, holding his left hand, and telling him that everything would be okay.

“August...?” He can’t even get the rest of the name out, just moans in pain. His head hurts. Did he hit it? How -

“You passed out, _mon cher_ ,” Augustine murmurs, drawing that hand up and pressing it to his forehead, as if silently praying over it.

_Why your forehead...? Why not your lips...?_

And then it hits him, where they are - he’d passed out during a press conference. Augustine must be playing the part of the frightened, worried friend, rather than outing their relationship on live television by being the frightened, worried _boyfriend_ that he actually was.

Lysandre tries to sit up, embarrassment overwhelming him, but a paw on his arm from Soleil and a hand on his chest from Augustine are enough to stop him. “No, no more,” the professor whispers. “Rest, please. There’s help on the way, so please...”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Lysandre replies, trying to reassure, trying so very hard to reassure, even as little black dots swim before his eyes again, even as his hand goes slack in Augustine’s, even as he thinks to himself, wearily, “How in Arceus’s name is this going to affect my company?”

***

“ _Mon cher Augustine_ ,” he murmurs, reaching out to run the back of his hand over the other man’s cheek, “you needn’t fuss over me, so...”

“Lysandre, you fainted on stage yesterday- What am I supposed to do, let it happen again? You could have cracked your head open- I know you _like_ the color red, but for the love of Xerneas, if I’d seen you bleed, I-”

“Shhh, _chéri_ , shhh...I’m not going anywhere...”

“I didn’t know that at the time! Neither did Soleil!”

Lysandre reaches out again, with both hands, now. He clasps Augustine’s trembling ones in his own - _my, how his hands shake, when he’s upset_ \- and kisses his partner’s knuckles. “I’m here, Augustine. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m alright, now.”

“C-Can I...?” Without finishing the question, Augustine slips into the bed and under the blanket, knowing that the answer will be yes. The two men wrap their arms around each other, and Lysandre’s Pyroar, who’d been lounging at the foot of the king-sized bed, shifts somewhat to let the new arrival stretch out, too.

“I’m sorry I scared you, _amour_.”

“It’s not your fault, Lys. I just...Oh, I was so afraid. I about fainted myself.”

“I believe that.”

“I thought you’d- an aneurysm-”

“An _aneurysm_?”

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just - why an _aneurysm_?”

“I don’t know! You _fell_ , and I- I-”

“Shh...” Lysandre reaches up, runs a soothing hand through the professor’s hair. “Why don’t you take a nap with me, okay? You’re more stressed than I am. Poor dear...”

“Don’t mock me...”

(Still, it’s nice here, with Lysandre, and the professor nestles into the hold - even though it’s only _Lysandre_ who falls asleep, while Augustine and Soleil remain wide awake. The lion chuffs - _You can rest, Professor. I will keep guard._ \- but Augustine merely shakes his head.

Watching Lysandre breathe gives him the reassurance he needs that Lysandre is okay, now.)


	6. Day Six: Date Night/Anniversary

**_Day Six_ **  
**_Date Night / Anniversary_ **

“To think, we’ve been dating for a whole decade,” Augustine murmurs, quietly, nuzzling against Lysandre’s chest, pressing feather-light kisses to it when he hears that contented hum rumbling within, a hum that quickly turns to a laugh in _response_ to those kisses. “Shall I kiss you once for every day we’ve been together, _mon coeur_ , as a part of your anniversary present?”

Lysandre speaks through his laughter, hands rubbing up and down his partner’s back, occasionally straying to thread lightly through those dark, silky locks of hair. “365 days a year, at 10 years...Even if we disregard the extra days from leap years, you still intend to give me more than _three thousand_ kisses in _one go,_ Augustine? My, my, my, my. Wouldn’t you lose count after the first...well, let’s be generous and say the first _twenty_. That’s _such_ a tall order...”

“I’d pay _strict_ attention, Lys.”

“Then how could you _enjoy_ them, if you’re so focused on counting?”

“Well, they’d be for _your_ enjoyment-”

“Oh? You’ve probably kissed me _more_ than once a day, on average, in the years we’ve been together, so surely you’ve _already_ fulfilled your quota?”

“It’s not about the _quota_ , Lysandre, it’s about-” Augustine’s voice is cut off by his own _shrieking_ laughter, for Lysandre has quite suddenly pushed him into a raised position, both men sitting up, now, as Lysandre covers the professor’s face with kisses and murmurs “One, two, three, four, five...” in between them.

“You stole my idea- Rude- Six, seven, eight-” the professor gasps out, giggling all the same. “Nine, ten-”

Of course, Lysandre’s estimate had been _generous_ , and it is very shortly after their tenth kiss that they’ve collapsed against each other in fits of laughter, occasionally kissing still, more often than not nuzzling their noses together and murmuring soft, gentle words of affection.

“Here’s to another year,” Augustine whispers, quietly, smiling against Lysandre’s cheek, before pressing another tender, reverent kiss to it.

“Why stop at a year, hmm? Another two, perhaps? Three? Four?”

“Three thousand,” Sycamore interjects, and this earns him a bark of a laugh from Lysandre.

The two men rest against each other, now, lying back on the bed again, eyes sliding closed, totally content in each other’s company, happy and calm and free...

“Well!” Lysandre says, suddenly, his chest rising and falling in time with his lover’s, adoring their beautiful symmetry. “Augustine, if we are going to stay together for _three thousand years_ , then we can also say this love will last for at least a...lifetime, yes?” There’s a sort of hesitancy in Lysandre’s voice at the end, there, and when Sycamore begins to pull away, to give him a quizzical look, Lysandre - 

Draws a sharp breath, and breaks their synchronicity.

Gently, he pulls away, and rises from the bed. Murmuring a quick “Rest here a moment, won’t you?” he slips out of the bedroom.

Lysandre returns a couple of minutes later, sees how that expression of pure confusion has only _deepened_ on his partner’s face, and bites the bullet. 

“Do you remember when I said I’d want our wedding day to be perfect?” he asks, and he takes the way in which Sycamore’s eyes grow _wide_ as a sign that the professor - ever an intelligent man - has guessed what’s coming next.

“Yes,” Augustine says, voice breathy, eyes locked on Lysandre’s closed hand as it reaches for him.

“And - do you recall how I said I _would_ marry you, one day?”

“Yes,” Augustine says, and Lysandre can hear the way the professor’s voice cracks.

Slowly, very slowly, Lysandre opens his hand, reveals the ring resting in his palm. “...Do I need to ask the question, or do you know it?”

“ _Yes_ -”

He isn’t sure what Augustine is saying yes to - needing to hear the question, _not_ needing to hear the question, perhaps it’s even an _answer_ to the question, but, still: Lysandre gets down on one knee, and gently takes Augustine’s hands in his, closing the ring into _Augustine’s_ palm, now.

“You _will_ marry me, won’t you?”

“Y-You mean it, this time? You mean it?”

“I wouldn’t have bought the ring if I _didn’t_ mean it.”

With a sob, Augustine lunges down to the floor, and throws his arms around Lysandre’s neck. “I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you- Oh, my god- Ohhh, I can’t believe-”

“Shh... _Je t'épouserai, et je promets de te rester fidèle, dans le bonheur ou dans les épreuves, dans la santé et dans la maladie, et de t'aimer tous les jours de ma vie_...”

“V-Vows already- Oh, let’s elope- Let’s elope, please-”

“Of course, of course...”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes, tomorrow. First thing...”

“You _promise_?”

“I _promise_ , I _promise_...”

Lysandre’s eyes _fly_ open, and the first thing he does is grab the sleeping professor’s hand, and make sure there’s no ring upon it. _But why would there be? I’ve never bought him one..._ Of course. Yes. They’d fallen asleep after their ‘three thousand kisses,’ the whole proposal little more than a dream, a fantasy he could _not_ allow to become reality, for it would do little more than _interfere_ with his plans.

Panicked, now, terrified of the _implications_ of such a dream, that it might speak to what he _really_ wants, he starts to shake Augustine awake.

“Wake up. Wake up. Go home. You need to go home.”

“What...?” Augustine is clearly still half-asleep, confused, and he reaches out to hold Lysandre again - but when his hold is rebuffed, he wakes more fully. “Wait, what did I-”

“Nothing. I just - you need to go.”

“Sweetheart?” Sycamore asks, sitting up, and Lysandre _hates_ that, hates how fucking _tender_ that name is. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong- What happened-”

“ _Go_. Please. I need to - be alone. _Go_.”

“Are you sick?!”

“ _No_. I- Well- Yes-” _An admission of weakness. Oh, gods, why must this man have such an effect on me-_

He hates how he leans into it, this time, gives in when Augustine envelops him in an embrace. “Shhh...Tell me what hurts...”

“Everything,” he groans. “ _Everything_.”

“...You have the weight of the world on your shoulders, huh?” Augustine kisses him, softly, tenderly. “Was it a nightmare?”

“...Yes. Yes, a nightmare.”

“Oh, _amour_ ,” Sycamore murmurs, blissfully unaware of the _contents_ of said ‘nightmare,’ “You don’t have to ask me to leave over a bad dream...I won’t ever judge you for having them. I’ll be at your side for as long as I live, I’ll chase away whatever demons may plague you...Three thousand more years, remember?”

“Yes,” Lysandre echoes, hollowly. “Three thousand more years. Happy...Happy Anniversary, Augustine. I’m...sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Augustine says, smiling that sweet, sweet smile, ignorant of all that Lysandre is _really_ apologizing for, and all the things to come that he won’t _get_ to apologize for. “Happy Anniversary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, since writing this back in September, I did end up having Lysandre and Sycamore as I portray them get married. Still haven't written a full fic for that, though!


	7. Day Seven: Free Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both the longest one and my favorite, and also where the canon-divergent tag comes in. This free day fic is about how Lysandre would react if Augustine was ever badly injured by something other than the Ultimate Weapon - thus forcing Lysandre to contend with his beloved professor’s mortality sooner rather than later.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed this collection!

**_Day Seven  
_ _Free Day_ **

Lysandre seldom channel-surfed - seldom used his TV at _all_ , really, except for watching the news - so what an irony it was that he should be doing so _now_ , on a rare morning off, and that it would be the _news_ which caused him to _freeze_ , the clicker falling from his grasp as he hears the words leaving Malva’s lips on the screen:

_Augustine Sycamore remains hospitalized, and the assailants who attacked our beloved regional professor late last night have yet to be apprehended. Anyone with any information should contact-_

He hears nothing else that she says, his mind latching onto the fact that ‘our beloved regional professor’ had been _attacked_ , and he repeats those vicious words in his head: _Augustine Sycamore remains hospitalized, and the assailants who attacked our beloved regional professor late last night have yet to be apprehended._

Lysandre grabs his Holo Caster, checks it for a message informing _him_ , personally, of this tragedy - and when he sees nothing, his mind goes to static. The two men normally spent their nights _together_ , whether in Lysandre’s Estates outside of the city or in Sycamore’s South Boulevard apartment, but the two had slept apart for the past week, not out of desire but out of _necessity_. Augustine had found himself _swamped_ with work, and had been pulling all-nighters in his Lab - at times like this, Lysandre knew better than to wait up, and simply looked forward to seeing him during the afternoons, when Augustine would stumble over to Lysandre Cafe for a coffee or five.

To think something like this could have happened while they were apart-!

He tries to ring Sycamore’s Holo Caster, heart _pounding_ , not expecting an answer, preparing himself to get a busy tone, perhaps, or more likely to have to record and send a message-

_We’re sorry! The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please check the number, or dial the operator to help you. Thank you for choosing Lysandre Labs._

He only knows what the robotic voice is telling him to do because the Holo Caster is his own product, and indeed, he’s stopped listening at the word-

“Disconnected?!” Lysandre gasps, the static turning to fog as little black dots swim before his eyes, and he tries the call again, desperate not to lose _control_ of this situation, any more than he’s evidently _already_ lost. “How- How could it be _disconnected_?! The _only_ way it could be would be if it were _destroyed_ -”

He bites his tongue, sharply, swears at the pain, but of course - of _course_ he’s horrified, for if Sycamore’s _Holo Caster_ has been destroyed - 

_What happened to the man himself?_

He doesn’t take the time to get entirely dressed, merely throwing on a pair of slacks and a dress shirt and his ring, ignoring his jacket, his ascot, his gloves - everything else that _usually_ went into composing his carefully crafted image. Indeed, he doesn’t even style his hair, merely ties it back, slips on his shoes, and _bolts_ out the door, ordering Bruy, his Noivern, to fly him directly to Sycamore Labs.

While in transit, he scrolls haphazardly through news articles, one hand gripping the fluff at the nape of Bruy’s neck so hard his knuckles are turning just as white.

> _Professor Augustine Sycamore was assaulted last night on Vernal Avenue. It appears to have been the work of a group of muggers. According to the trainer who stumbled upon the scene and called in the attack to the authorities, the Professor and his Delphox had been defeated, but Professor Sycamore was still intending to guard his Pokemon and his Mega Ring and fight back himself, in spite of his injuries._
> 
> _Readers might remember that the Professor obtained his Mega Ring as a gift from Dr. Lysandre Fuladari, the head of Lysandre Labs. The two men have been business associates, personal friends, and - as they’ve recently revealed - romantic partners for many years, and the ring was publicly presented to the Professor last year at-_

_**Click**._

> _Professor Augustine Sycamore, a Mega-Evolution expert and the regional professor of the Kalos region, was hospitalized following an attack last night in Lumiose City. Although Sycamore’s research on Mega-Evolution has yet to be utilized in practice by Sycamore himself, he nevertheless wears a Mega-Ring which was gifted to him by Dr. Lysandre Fuladari, the philanthropist behind the creation of the Holo Caster. It is theorized that this is what his assailants were after, although police indicate that these efforts were unsuccessful. A trainer arrived on the scene, and although she did rescue the professor, she was unable to apprehend the suspects, who police describe as-_

_**Click**_.

> _According to an interview with the trainer who saved our Professor from an assailant late last night, “He wouldn’t let the Ring go, and he was shielding his Delphox from attacks, too. He must really care about his research, and his Pokemon.”_

_**Click**_.

> _Professor Augustine Sycamore remains in critical condition at Lumiose Hospital following several blows to the head and chest during a mugging incident last night. His Delphox, the only Pokemon he’d had on hand at the time, remains in critical condition as well._

“Critical condition,” Lysandre moans, unable to look at any more reports after that, and he barely acknowledges the concerned chirp that his Noivern replies with, as the dots return to his eyes. “Not just Augustine, but Goupil, too. All over that Mega Ring he doesn’t even _try_ and use properly...I would have found it for you and gotten it back, _mon cher_ , you know I would have...Why _die_ over it...”

He _knows_ Augustine, after all. Knows that Augustine held onto that ring not for the research it could provide for him, but because _Lysandre_ had given it to him. The sentiment would have been touching, had it not nearly caused the man’s death.

> _Augustine Sycamore remains hospitalized, and the assailants who attacked our beloved regional professor late last night have yet to be apprehended._

“Land-” Lysandre gasps out, as Malva’s words ring through his head once more, and he realizes how _easily_ he can change them: _Augustine Sycamore was killed last night when the Weapon fired, sir. Our beloved regional professor is no more._

Bruy acts quickly and obediently, landing just in time for her Trainer to fall from her back and collapse to the ground. _Our beloved regional professor is no more._ _Our beloved regional professor is no more._ _Our beloved regional professor is no more. Our beloved regional professor is no more._

The words repeat in his head, endlessly and uselessly, a vicious cycle mocking him, _preying_ on him, the weakness that Augustine has always _been_ making itself apparent and proving one thing, one _monumental_ thing, about Lysandre:

_I am not a man who can overcome my weaknesses. I need him alive, or else I will die with him._

It takes the feel of his Noivern’s wing on his back to break him out of his spiral, and it’s only then that he realizes how heavily he was breathing, the sounds almost sobs. In an uncharacteristic display of _fear_ , he hugs Bruy around the neck. “Get me to the Lab, please,” he says, quietly. “I need to - I need to see if this is true. Oh, _Arceus_ , let it not be true-”

The mournful lamentations escaping him as they fly turn very quickly into a snarl of rage, as Lysandre and Bruy descend on Sycamore Labs, the bat’s frightening presence enough to scare off any paparazzi who might otherwise try to accost her trainer - not that _his_ expression is very approachable right now, either. _Ohhh, I’ll find who did this to him. They’ll pay, each and every one of them will_ _ **pay**_.

“Thank you, Bruy. Stay here and watch the door, please. I want to have a word with the lab assistants in _private_. I don’t want these _idiots out here_ getting _in_.”

With that order given, Lysandre slips off of his Noivern’s back, giving her a Berry to eat before he _bursts_ into Sycamore Labs. He needs to hear it straight from the lips of Sina and Dexio: what had happened, how things were going - _and why he wasn’t told directly, and was instead left to hear about it on the news._

Indeed, the man doesn’t even _greet_ them - instead, he keeps walking toward them until they’ve both been backed into a corner, and then he _pounces_ , the rage that’s been building in him with every step exploding out of him in venom so pronounced that even a Poison-type would have felt its effects.

“Who was going to tell me?!” he roars, almost _surprised_ at the depths of this rage, for to lose his cool so completely reveals that it runs even _deeper_ than he’d thought - and he’d already assumed it to be quite deep. “Who was going to tell me that Augustine was hurt?! Who was going to tell me that he was mugged and hospitalized last night?!”

Dexio starts to stammer something out about how “W-Well, we were going to, as soon as we finished letting his relatives know-”

“His relatives?! _His relatives_?! His _closest_ relatives live all the way in _Couriway Town_! And that’s not even _considering_ how many of them live all the way out in fucking _Sinnoh_! _I_ should have been the _first_ person you called! Do you think I wouldn’t want to be at his side?! Huh?!”

“It’s not that!” Sina starts to squeak out, uncharacteristically meek even as she babbles on _senselessly_. “ H-His parents are his emergency contacts right now, b-but he was saying the other day that he needed to change it to you, when Dexio had to go to the ER and get stitches because of that Fennekin that got too rough when playing and scratched his arm. W-We all got to talking about stuff like that! But the professor- H-He hadn’t had time to update it before - this - so the hospital- And then in between calls we’ve been dealing with the reporters and trying to feed the Pokemon-” 

These useless ramblings are of course interrupted by Lysandre’s rage, for all they’ve done is fan the flames of his ire further.

“I don’t need your damn _life stories_ , and I don’t _care_ who the _hospital_ is supposed to call first! If _anything_ happens to him, _you two_ are supposed to call _me_! _**Me**_ , do you understand?!”

“W-We understand!” they both cry out in unison, although it does little to quell his mounting anger.

“You better. Ohhh, you better, or so help me, _I will make sure the two of you **join him** in the hospital. Do not fucking **test** me-_”

It is at that moment that Lysandre feels _something_ wrapping around his arm. A sharp glance reveals that ‘something’ to be ribbons, and the ribbons of course belong to Joie - Augustine’s Sylveon, who makes her home at the Lab and is very clearly trying to soothe her Trainer’s boyfriend’s rage.

He’s too wound up for her efforts to be _entirely_ successful, but of course - releasing a soothing essence is what Sylveon _do_ , and so he nevertheless finds himself stepping back anyway. He tugs his arm free, manages at the _least_ to steady his hand enough to give her a _gentle_ pat on the head, and passes his other hand over his face, suddenly aware of how very _tired_ he is.

“...Forgive me, both of you. That was - not wholly called for. I...I just did not like receiving such terrible news over the television and the Internet. I would have liked to have been able to meet him at the hospital. I was - petrified, when I heard that he was hurt. Attacked. Nearly _killed_. Why - Why didn’t you call me right away?”

He draws in a breath, at that, finally notes how very _exhausted_ Sina and Dexio look, too, decides to keep talking before they can answer - for _now_ , it is _grief_ and _worry_ which he cannot stem.

“I understand that this must be terribly hard on you both as well. Just - please. Please, if he’s hurt, I need to know right away. I _need_ to. You have no _idea_ what hearing that news did to me. I mean, _look_ at me - I’m not even entirely dressed! I can’t - I can’t be the last person to know if he’s injured. His parents - His parents, I can understand, but everyone else in his family - Well, _I_ need to be first. I have to be. I am the most important person in _his_ life, and he is the most important person in _mine_. I cannot be left out of any matters involving him, for we are _engaged to be married_.”

He doesn’t initially notice what he’d said, only registers it when he sees how _wide_ Sina and Dexio’s eyes got, at that sudden revelation. And - And why _would_ he have said this? They _aren’t_ engaged, after all, not officially, and he could have easily explained the outburst as a slip of the tongue made in a fit of passion. But he does _not_ explain it away, nor does he correct himself, because - because -

Well, he doesn’t _know_ why he is not correcting himself. He only knows that the weight of the words ‘engaged to be married’ settle so _lovingly_ and so _delicately_ on his shoulders. 

_If Augustine lives,_ he thinks, _I’ll do right by him and give him that wedding he’s always wanted. I swear it on Arceus himself. I swear it, just don’t take him away from me. Not now. Not **ever**. He will **live** , with me, eternally. He **must**._

“We- We’re sorry,” the two lab assistants say, quietly, and Lysandre forces a smile - for their sakes, and for Joie’s as well, seeing as the little Sylveon is once again holding his arm in her feelers. 

“We- We were panicking and scared,” Sina mumbles, and Lysandre’s eyes flicker down, noting how she and Dexio are holding onto each other. “We’re really sorry, sir...”

“Don’t- Don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge,” he lies. “Is he - still in critical condition? The news said-”

“Not - not critical,” Dexio interjects, trying to return the smile, his equally forced. “He’s drifting in and out, according to his mother, but he’s not going to die. He can’t really talk. He’s on - painkillers, though. A lot of them. He’s at Lumiose Hospital, if you want to see him.”

“And Goupil? Which Pokemon Center is he at?”

“He’s - _also_ at the hospital, actually.” That’s Sina speaking again. “He didn’t want to leave the Professor - according to the Nurse - so he’s being treated there, too. He’s doing better than the Professor is.”

Although he is still alarmed, relief nevertheless flows through Lysandre so strongly that he nearly collapses, _again_ \- Joie’s feelers are meant to steady him, now, rather than calm.

“Oh, thank the gods...” he groans. “With the way everyone was talking about them, I thought for sure they were at death’s door...I apologize, again, for my reactions earlier. Try and - get some rest. I - I will go pay him a visit, now.”

After exchanging stilted goodbyes with Sina and Dexio, he makes his exit, Joie running along after him, the Sylveon watching from the door as Lysandre climbs on Bruy’s back, the Noivern having long ago chased away the cameramen and finished her snack.

Lysandre waves, Bruy nods her head, Joie barks out a goodbye - and the Noivern takes flight, delivering her trainer to Lumiose Hospital.

***

Lysandre visits Goupil first, for Pokemon - even those who are being treated at Lumiose Hospital alongside a trainer - are kept in separate wards, as a result of differing equipment and treatment options. And, oh, seeing the Delphox curled up into a little ball, the position he _always_ slept in whenever he was scared or hurt or upset, tugs at Lysndre’s heartstrings. He rubs the sleeping Pokemon’s ears, murmurs a promise that he will find whoever did this, and presses a quick kiss to Goupil’s forehead before he leaves the room, Bruy staying behind with the injured fox while Lysandre goes to visit -

 _Augustine_.

Lysandre’s heart _hammers_ in his chest. He imagines his fiance ( _no use denying it now, oh no, he is **yours** , and you will make damned sure that no harm comes to him ever again_) is _also_ going to be asleep, is _also_ going to be doped up on painkillers - but a man taking attacks for his downed Pokemon is _bound_ to be in worse condition than the Pokemon itself, and the very _idea_ that someone could have harmed his Augustine, could have _brutalized_ that pristine, perfect man...

_I’ll kill them. Ohhh, I’ll kill them with my own two hands-_

These thoughts only intensify, when he walks into the room, and sees the professor lying there, pale save for the _bruising_ \- ugly purple, blue, black things, marring his face and shoulders, the evenness of his breathing almost _synchronized_ with the beeping of the hospital machinery working at his side. And indeed, there’s an oxygen mask on his mouth, bandages around his head and chest, some IV plugged into his arm -

Lysandre trembles with _rage_ , as he draws a chair up next to the bed, slips into it, clutches one of the professor’s limp hands in his own and presses a reverent kiss to the back of it. “I’ll find them, _amour_ ,” he whispers, blue eyes _burning_. “I’ll find them, and they will pay for what they’ve done to you...”

He kisses Augustine’s wrist, feeling the pulse beating weakly within.

“If only I’d been there to protect you...No harm would have befallen you. Not you, my sweet, loving, tender, gentle, _beautiful_ Augustine...Oh, when I read those articles, heard that report - I thought I’d lost you, _you_ , the most beautiful, wondrous thing to ever happen to me...What _am_ I, without my Augustine, without my light, without my sweet, sweet thing...”

He knows, now, knows he can’t let Sycamore die - not here, and not when Team Flare eventually acts. He can remember it, the way that panic felt, twisting like a knife, the rage coursing through him, the declaration of Sycamore as his _fiance_ \- 

He would wed him, and their honeymoon would be had on the heels of the creation of a brand new, _beautiful_ world: Lysandre as its king, and his dear, sweet Augustine ruling at his side.

“By the time you have healed completely,” he whispers, quietly, leaning down now to kiss that bruised forehead, careful not to jostle or disturb the mask or the IV - oh how _ugly_ this is, not the face itself but the fact that someone could dare _harm it like this_ \- “I will have found the people who hurt you. They’ll be gone, long gone, my dear, my sweet, my lovely, my precious thing...”

_And then I will **double down** on my efforts to eradicate all who would **dare** erase the beauty of this world. Those who would harm you have ensured the destruction of Kalos, for they have proved to me how very **ugly** humanity has become._

“There is good in this, _mon cher_ ,” he says, quietly, then, slipping off his _own_ Mega Ring, sliding it on Sycamore’s finger, letting it rest above the ring the Professor had fought so valiantly to protect. He can only hope that Augustine will understand the significance, should he awake and see it after Lysandre leaves.

“To think...If this had never happened, if I was not forced to grapple with the _pain_ of losing you...I might never have realized that _I_ was one of those people. If I had left you behind, if I had not allowed _you_ to flourish in my new world, would I not have been eradicating _beauty_ in my attempts to eradicate _ugliness_?”

The younger man stirs slightly on the bed, and Lysandre caresses his cheek with the back of his hand. “Shhhh...No, do not fret. Rest now, my love, and when you awake, all will be well. _Je promets_.”

Still, though, he is relieved to see these signs of life, and he sits back down, clutches that hand again, prays that Sycamore _will_ awake, will come out of his haze of pain. 

Finally, finally, _finally,_ after what must have been an _eternity_ , those soft, gorgeous eyes flutter open, and even through the pain he must _surely_ feel, Augustine - tries to smile, tries to say Lysandre’s name.

“Shhh...Shhhh...Don’t talk. Save your strength.” Lysandre brings that hand up to his lips, kisses it gently. “You’re safe, _mon cher_. You’re safe...So is Goupil...”

(Augustine must already _know_ that, seeing as Sina and Dexio had mentioned the man’s parents visiting him, but - Lysandre knows how much Augustine loves his Starter, wants to reassure him anyway he can, wants him to know that all is well, because _he_ will fix _everything_.)

And indeed, Sycamore _does_ begin to relax at that, as anticipated. But then - his eyes widen, slightly, when he sees the hand that Lysandre is kissing, his ring finger now adorned with _two_ rings instead of one - 

_Your ring?_ those eyes say, confused, and Lysandre smiles, finally.

“I want to marry you,” he whispers, “and in lieu of an actual engagement ring- Oh, no, no, no, don’t - calm down, please-”

Sycamore’s breathing is quickening at an alarming rate, his eyes now as wide as dinner plates. Evidently, those words have broken through his drug-induced haze, and he feebly tries to shake his head, to protest-

“Augustine, please- This isn’t me proposing to you because you got hurt and I feel awful about it and am trying to ‘make it up to you’ or express ‘pity’ - although I _do_ feel awful, make no mistake. The thought of someone hurting you...” He draws a deep breath, stills the rage, lest it overflow and stress his lover out further. 

“But never mind that. I’m proposing to you because- because almost losing you made me realize, truly realize, how _important_ you are to me. I nearly fainted twice over, when I heard about this. I couldn’t handle it , the thought of you dead and gone and torn away from me. And then I thought of our - discussions, on marriage, and how - _bad_ , I’ve been to you, about this. You’ve been so patient with me... _Mon cher, je t’aime_. _Je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime_. I want to spend the rest of _eternity_ with you, protecting you, cherishing you, loving you as I have never loved another. With you at my side, the world will be forever beautiful...”

The professor tries to speak, but Lysandre shushes him again. “We can talk about this when you’ve recovered. For now, rest, and know I am here for you. Know that I love you. Know that I will be here, always, to keep you safe...”

Augustine’s lips continue to part, and he clumsily fumbles for Lysandre’s hand - yet no words are able to successfully leave him before he slips back into unconsciousness.

***

As the weeks pass by, Dr. Lysandre Fuladari finds himself a _very_ busy man. Goupil is released from the hospital first, although the ever-loyal Delphox does not sleep at home until _Augustine_ has been released, too. 

Lysandre visits the professor _every_ day, sends plainclothes Flare operatives out into the streets on _most_ , each one tasked with finding the men who’d hurt the professor and then bringing them to Lysandre Labs for...

 _Questioning_.

On top of it all, there’s still engagement rings to shop for, living situations to be re-arranged. Lysandre _insists_ that the professor no longer live alone in Lumiose, that he not even _think_ about pulling all-nighters for research, and has moved Augustine and all of his Pokemon out to the Estates. Not the Starters his labs give out, of course, but the fifteen Pokemon Augustine himself _personally_ owns. Combined with Lysandre’s six, well...

Suddenly, his once quiet manor has gotten a whole lot _livelier_. 

“My _goodness_. I always knew you had _more_ than me, but it wasn’t until I saw the whole lot of our teams together that it truly hit me that you have over _twice_ as many Pokemon as _I_ do,” Lysandre comments, glancing outside to where he can see all twenty-one of their Pokemon lounging on the greens and in the lagoon. “I’m almost _jealous_.”

“And what do you think _I’m_ jealous of, eh? _Look_ at me! I may never be handsome _again_ ,” Augustine groans, gingerly touching one of the bruises on his cheek - they’re beginning to fade in color, at least, although they are still _present_ , still taunting Lysandre with reminders of what he must do.

“Nonsense, _chéri_. You’re _always_ handsome. You just need to wait for that _ghastly_ yellow color to go away, and then you can be _really_ handsome.”

Augustine tosses a pillow at him. “You are so _cruel_. A thing to say-”

“I jest. It is not _your_ fault that you’ve got some light bruising. They will fade.”

“This is _light_ to you-?!”

As their bickering ( _ah, how lovely, like an old married couple_ ) continues, Lysandre glances at his Holo Caster, which is chiming with a text message from Xerosic: “The criminals have been found, sir, and await your presence in the Labs.”

Lysandre smiles _brightly_ , sends a quick “I will be there in a couple of hours. Keep them entertained.” message to Xerosic - the scientist will glean the _real_ meaning behind those words - and then sits down on the floor, in front of the couch that Augustine is lounging on. He gives his fiance a kiss on the hand so as to give off the impression that he is smiling at the professor’s _charming wit_ , and thinks to himself of how very _lucky_ he is, to have this man, to have the opportunity to _avenge_ this man, to have the opportunity to avenge _all_ beautiful things in this world.

For indeed, once _those thugs_ have been dealt with, he can say that his purge of the world’s ugliness will have officially _begun_. Then the wedding bells will ring, and he will carry his husband across the threshold and into a more _beautiful_ tomorrow.

_And won’t my Augustine be so very pleased with these surprises._


End file.
